


Blue Rangers: The Boy Who Could Become a Wolf

by Br0nzDrag0nfly



Series: Blue Rangers [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms
Genre: Other, Tolkien, fairy tale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-27 02:21:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15676077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Br0nzDrag0nfly/pseuds/Br0nzDrag0nfly
Summary: A character study introducing Lycurgus ‘Gus’, while starting the story off from one character's perspective.





	Blue Rangers: The Boy Who Could Become a Wolf

Should you find yourself in the village of Mochyndun you might be overwhelmed by the slight savor of pig. What can you expect? They’re everywhere. It’s what the town’s wealth, what little there is, is built on. The king of Beaucroât insists upon it so he might feed his soldiers. Oh, they grow other things, like graft, houses, orphaned grandmothers, and because of its location at a major river crossing, queens.

The town is governed like most in that kingdom. She has a municipal president and a couple of councilors, a magistrate, seven reeves – none of whom seem to understand the meaning of justice, a guild master who claimed to have been educated by dwarves, and a pillory manager.

Gus was a lonely little boy. He was worst than a stranger to the village of Mochyndun. He was an orphan.

Well, one family had lowered themselves enough to adopt him. They got a good return for their investment. Their house was never so clean, mending done in good order, and the harvest done without a bead of sweat on their brow. They truly lived like kings because of him.

They fed him only enough to keep him going. If he did not make his own britches, from the hair on his head, he would be doing all of that as naked as a plucked chicken.

Until one day he learned a terrible secret. He was an ulfgard, a werewolf. He was not the only one to learn it that day, either. See, he ran home from the river, one day, with the household laundry on his back. No, not because he was late or needed exercise. It is just that the town dogs enjoyed bullying him, nipping his heals, calling him names. It made the bullying they get, the kicking, the insults, the need to beg for scraps, that much more tolerable. So, they were chasing after him, calling him such rude names I dare not repeat them (your mother might be listening and could get ideas). That’s when he felt the first stage of the first change rip his body apart, and he stumbled from the pain. No, can’t say it is like tearing paper, fabric, or gas. It was like having your skin ripped off after every bone in your body has been broken and your guts shredded.

First, the dogs became quite distressed. He always smelled like they did, and seemed to understand them better than most. Now, he was getting as fuzzy as they while sprouting a tail.

The shire reeve, who was about to scold him for his clumsiness, saw the boy’s teeth and face change shape and ran like Pan himself was hunting him.

By the time Gus could study his new shape – tail sticking out of his loincloth, wolfish paws with fingers, hair everywhere but his belly – the town’s council had rushed toward him. The religious council followed. Then came the guilds’ master (no more needed than that, only three craftsmen in town). The ladies of the, um, entertaining night, followed, then the official gardener and all his little helpers showed up.

Lastly, his adoptive slavers, I mean parents arrived. He could not make himself understood now any better than he could before. In fact, his words came out as gruffs and ruffs, growls and howls, woos and mews, and nothing short of gibberish to their ears.

He understood them, well-enough. They meant to kill him.

“The devil works through the boy,” the religious council said.

“We tried to work it out of him,” his adoptive parents said. “He was just too lazy and head strong.”

“His family made him from poor stock,” the guild master said.

“Send him to the pillory,” the queens said.

“To the gallows,” the shire reeve said. They agreed, he would not live.

“Kill him,” they all said. They made their point by gathering pitchforks, bearded axes, and brands to raze the wolfish boy to the ground.

Um, eh-hem. By the time they were ready he was already at the gate running at top speed for the forest. As best he could, that is. You cannot say it’s easy. You see, while he had mastered the skills of walking and running like a boy, the wolf had only just learned to walk. Four feet, which one leads, which follows? What, you don’t know? If you have to ask, you will want to practice. So, that gives us hope, even to Gus.

.•º•.


End file.
